Do you remember the dancing in Toyland, my dear
That strange Sunday evening in June
We walked underground, the second floor, without fear
In a large and most cavernous room.
It was the Toy Factory, a merry affair
In the icy cold winter of Lutie
I was most dashing and dressed debonair
Whilst you had the charms of Old Clootie.
I was a bard, a wandering singer, I ken
While you were a dancer most cute
I was so very in love with you then
But you crushed my rose with your boot
Your feet, oh so haughty, so dainty in fashion
You danced like a whore from the devil
The Mage stole the flowers, or perhaps the Assassin
Then they buggered off up a level
Carcasses of Cruisers, Christmas Cookies and Cases
Were as high as your chainmail brassiere
I wanted to take you, and defile your laces
But you said, ‘I think we’re done here.’
If dead I could string you, just like a puppet
To dance in an infinite loop
I thought of the dead and your bosom, my poppet
As we returned to Pr0ntera to regroup
You too would be dead, and hear not my shanties
Just recycled RAM before long
Worms and l4me haxxors would bootleg your panties
Which is why I wrote you this song.
Short poem inspired by Baudelaire’s ‘A Carcass’ and the time I nearly got married on RO.